


we'll wake up singing

by thomashelbys



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Philadelphia Eagles, possibly boring description of an american football game, yeah i went there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-15 23:04:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17538020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thomashelbys/pseuds/thomashelbys
Summary: He wants the Eagles to win this stupid game so much, because he knows how much they mean to Eric. And it pains Dele, because Eric is wrong this time. He's not counting on a fairytale tonight, he’s counting on a miracle.And Dele has seen enough in sports to know that these sort of things, miracles, don’t happen that often.





	we'll wake up singing

**Author's Note:**

> hey,  
> right, so the united game and the eagles game that are mentioned here happened almost two weeks ago. i'm only posting this now because.. i'm trash.  
> on a second note, i owed a fic with the philadelphia eagles theme to myself, so this is pretty much self-indulgent.  
> anyways, enjoy!!

Eric’s text of _got stuck taking pictures w fans, meet you in the car?_ does fuck all to improve Dele’s mood after the nightmare that was their game against United. Dele knows that getting pissy because Eric won’t be coming to the dressing room to coddle him after the loss is irrational, especially because Eric will coddle him just the same when they get to Eric’s place anyway. That doesn’t stop him from slamming the door to his locker shut and almost ripping the zipper from his bag when he closes it with too much force, though. The dressing room is mostly quiet, the usually loud conversations and jokes muted by the weight of the team’s defeat. Dele feels a bit like he’s suffocating, so he makes a run for the door as soon as he’s finished getting dressed, hurrying through his goodbyes and speed walking to the parking lot.

Eric, true to his text, is waiting for him when Dele reaches the car. He’s leaning against the passenger door, tall and handsome as ever as he stands there with his arms crossed over his chest. Dele stands in front of him, his arms hanging limp by his sides as they stare at each other for a moment. Dele feels a burning pressure behind his eyelids, one that match the frustration that hangs heavy on his shoulders, and he blinks, trying to keep the angry tears at bay.

“Come here,” Eric says, his face soft as he reaches for Dele and pulls him into his arms.

Cloaked by darkness and by the mostly empty parking lot, Dele lets himself melt into Eric’s embrace. He buries his face on Eric’s hoodie, the familiar smell of his perfume mixed with laundry detergent and the warmth of his body like applying balm over a burn, soothing his heavy heart.

“It was a tough game for us, Del,” Eric whispers quietly, warm hand cradling the back of Dele’s neck, “we were good, they were just… Better.”

“Yeah,” Dele swallows bitterly as he raises his face from Eric’s chest, “that fucker De Gea was having a night of his own tonight. Tall fucking bastard.”

Eric laughs out loud at that, this bright laugh that makes his eyes crinkle and his body shake, and Dele can’t help but smile along, butterflies blooming in his gut when Eric shakes his head and presses a kiss to the top of Dele’s head.

“Come on,” Eric says as he slips the bag from Dele’s shoulder and opens the passenger door for him, “let’s go home.”

The drive to Eric’s place is quiet. Eric hums softly to whatever is playing on the radio as he drives, one hand on the wheel while Dele keeps hold of the other one, their fingers laced together on his lap as he stares out of the window. His muscles are a bit sore from running and running and running, all for nothing. His thigh burns a little because of Pogba’s late hit, and Dele tries not to think about the game and their missed chances, but he does anyway, defeat sitting heavy in his gut when he thinks about how De Gea denied them the equalizer at every single shot they’d had at goal.

Eric tightens his hold on Dele’s hand as if he knows what Dele is thinking, and Dele shakes his head, turns to look at him instead. He sits sideways on his seat and distracts himself by cataloguing the familiar traces of Eric’s face. The shape of his nose, his trimmed beard, the way he frowns his eyebrows when he is concentrating. Dele thinks about the look on Eric’s face in the parking lot, and how he’s always there for Dele when their footballing house of cards comes tumbling down. United. The Croatia game. Eric looks at him from the corner of his eye and smiles, his thumb caressing Dele’s knuckles.

“What?” Eric asks as he pulls into his driveway and turns the engine off.

Dele shakes his head and gives him a smile, a little but genuine one at last, before leaning over to press their lips together, murmuring a quiet _thank you_ against Eric’s mouth.

“No need for thank me, Del. Now come on, let’s get inside,” Eric says, “it’s freezing here.”

Inside, they take off their sneakers and hang their coats before going into the living room, where Dele throws himself on the sofa. Eric walks by to grab the remote and turn the TV on, immediately tuning BBC in. There’s an American football game on, which can only mean one thing.

“Oh. The Eagles are playing their stupidly important game tonight, aren’t they?” Dele asks, because he actually pays attention when Eric talks about the other football.

(Well. Sometimes.)

“The NFC Divisional, yeah,” Eric says, not taking his eyes off the TV where they’re showing what Dele guesses is the final quarter of the Patriots-Chargers game, “I’m gonna cook us some pasta before the game. You stay here and rest that leg.”

He braces himself on the backrest of the sofa as he leans down to give Dele a peck on his way past him, murmuring _be right back_ as he disappears into the kitchen. Dele makes himself comfortable on the sofa, tucking his cold feet under a cushion, happy to distract himself from today’s events with some lesser football.

“Do you need help, babe?” Dele asks, twenty minutes into watching the game, “The Patriots are fucking murdering the Rivers bloke, it’s almost embarrassing.”

“No,” Eric says, coming into the living room to hand Dele a bottle of water and catch up on the score, “the pasta is almost ready, just gotta mix it with the pesto.”

“Oh,” Dele blinks, a little surprised because Eric isn’t a big fan of pesto, “my favourite.”

Eric just hums in agreement, kissing Dele’s head as he makes his way back to the kitchen. Dele stares after him for a moment, heart swelling on his chest at Eric’s thoughtfulness. It’s a simple, simple thing, and it shouldn’t surprise him this much that Eric would do this just to make him feel at least a little bit better, what with them being together for a while now. It’s just pasta, and yet Dele can’t help but feel like he’s the luckiest person in the world.

“Del, can you help me bring the stuff to the living room, though,” Eric asks five minutes later, “I didn’t plan this very well.”

Dele laughs as he walks into the kitchen. Eric has his back to the door, and Dele wraps himself around him, resting his chin on Eric’s shoulder as he watches him work. Dele presses a kiss to Eric’s cheek then noses down the side of his neck, smiling at him when Eric turns his head a little to look at him.

“What was that for?”

“Just thanks. For you being you,” Dele answers, letting go of Eric to grab the plates, “now come on, the game is almost starting.”

They eat their late dinner on the coffee table, their crossed legs touching at the knees as the commentators ramble stats about the Saints-Eagles previous games on TV. Eric talks about the game too, while Dele just listens, marveling at how sure Eric is that his ragtag team of underdogs can win this thing again. Dele knows he should say something, should tell Eric to be careful, especially after the match they had this evening, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell Eric to lower his expectations. Not when he’s looking this bright in his Eagles’ shirt and his socks with green and black stripes.

They settle back on the sofa a few minutes before kick-off, Dele on Eric’s lap and warm mugs of tea in hand, and Dele settles against Eric’s chest as the Saints’ receive the ball to start the game. Eric presses a kiss to the top of his head and asks Dele if he’s feeling better, and Dele murmurs his _yes_ as he kisses Eric’s jaw before turning to pay attention to the game.

The game where Drew Brees gets intercepted by the Eagles’ defense on his first throw.

And then the Eagles score a touchdown. Foles to Matthews, second down and two yards.

And then their defense forces a three-and-out from the Saints next.

And then the Eagles score their second touchdown. A run from Foles on second down and goal, and Eric is smiling so wide Dele can’t help but kiss him a little, punch drunk on Eric’s happiness.

The Eagles are leading 14-0, and then everything goes downhill.

Dele would normally be asleep at this point, bowled over by the stressful matchday, head on Eric’s lap as he plays with his hair, but tonight he hangs on despite the burning in his tired eyes. Dele is watching the game, but he is watching Eric watch it just as much at this point. He stares helplessly as the smile on Eric’s face is replaced by a frown, and frustrated groans take the place of delighted laughs as the Philadelphia Eagles are forced to punt for what feels like the thousandth time.

The second quarter comes to an end with the point difference now down to four points, and they watch as the Eagles, frayed by injuries on their defense, fall apart on the third quarter after a miserable a three-and-out that results on a goddamn eight minutes long possession for the Saints, one that ends in a touchdown that gives them the lead for the first time, 17-14.

“This is fucking bullshit,” Dele murmurs when the Saints score another field goal, making it 20-14, a six-point game five minutes into the fourth quarter.

“We can still do this,” Eric says, patting Dele’s knee, “there’s still ten minutes.”

Foles throws four incomplete passes next, the Eagles punt to give the ball back to the Saints, who quickly rip through the Eagles’ defense to get into field goal position. The kicker misses it, kicks it far too wide, and Dele lets out a relieved breath.

“Watch, Del. This is what I was talking about,” Eric says, and he is almost trembling with nervous energy as the Eagles’ offense get back on field.

 _It’s a Cinderella story again, Del_ , Eric had said earlier, had said it when the Eagles had won the Wildcard game too, and Dele wants Eric to be right. He wants the Eagles to win this stupid game so much, because he knows how much they mean to Eric. And it pains Dele, because Eric is wrong this time. He's not counting on a fairytale tonight, he’s counting on a miracle.

And Dele has seen enough in sports to know that these sort of things, miracles, don’t happen that often.

Still Dele can’t help but sit up straighter when Foles gets the Eagles well into Saints’ territory after a couple of successful plays. The clock counts down from 1:52, and Dele clutches at Eric’s hand as Foles throws the ball, sends it flying downfield straight into the hands of Jeffery…

…who can’t control it, and they watch, stunned, as the ball is caught by the Saints’ player behind him.

It’s an interception. New Orleans gets the ball back, throws it for a first down before kneeling out the remainder of the game.

Game over.

Eric is eerily quiet as they watch the celebrations unfold on TV, catching a glimpse of the Philadelphia players trying to cheer Jeffery up, before Dele grabs the control and turns it off. Having your heartbreak broadcasted like that makes Dele think about the United match, about trying and trying and trying, only to fall back on their knees again. Dele suddenly feels cold inside again, so he can only imagine how terrible Eric must feel after watching both of his teams lose and not being able to do anything to help.

“Come on,” Dele gets up, offering a hand to Eric, “let’s go to bed.”

Eric grabs it, and they walk hand in hand to Eric’s bedroom, only letting go to get rid of their clothes and slip under the covers, both of them in their sweatpants. There’s a bit of moonlight streaming through the window and illuminating Eric’s face as they lay on their sides facing each other, and Dele wants to snap something in half because of the sadness he sees in them. Dele pulls Eric closer to him, and Eric hides his face on the crook of Dele’s shoulder, their legs tangled together. Dele runs his nails through Eric’s buzzcut, the way he always does when Eric is sad. They don’t talk, content with just breathing and existing in each other’s space.

“Today was a sad day for us, sports wise,” Eric says after a while, moving his head so he can look at Dele.

“Yeah,” Dele gives him a sleepy smile, “I’m glad we’ve been through it together, though. You make it better. Everything is better. With you.”

“Yeah?” Eric laughs.

Dele is tired, and he knows he’s probably making a fool of himself, but that doesn’t stop him from confirming what Eric already knows.

“Yeah.”

Eric smiles back at him before closing the gap between them in a kiss. They’ve been together for two years now, but the thrill of kissing Eric never fades, blood thrumming in Dele’s veins as Eric touches the side of his face, his fingers spidering to the back of Dele’s neck as he deepens the kiss. They kiss until the bitter taste of disappointment has long vanished from their mouths, until they feel warm inside again, until all they can think about is about being here, hands and fingers tangling together. Until everything seems to revolve around them.

And maybe, for now, it does.

**Author's Note:**

> quick glossary  
> \- quarter: an american football game has four quarters of fifteen minutes each  
> \- nfc divisional (round): a playoff game. the american football season is divided in regular season and post-season (playoffs). the playoffs are divided in three rounds - wildcard, divisional, championship - and the super bowl.  
> \- nfc: national football conference  
> \- teams mentioned are the patriots (new england patriots), chargers (los angeles chargers), saints (new orleans saints) and eagles (philadelphia eagles)  
> \- touchdown: worth 6 points (+1 depending on the extra point)  
> \- three-and-out: to give the ball back to the other team's offense after you fail to complete a first down (run ten yards) four times straight  
> \- punt: to give the ball back to the other team's offense (but by kicking it, the receiving team starts where the ball falls)  
> \- field goal: worth 3 points
> 
> i hope i didn't make the american footballing parts too boring for you! it's a pretty cool game, i just suck at explaining it! anyways, i'm on [tumblr](https://runrobborun.tumblr.com) if you wanna talk!! comments are always nice and they make my day too <3


End file.
